A Little Problem on LeBlanc
by Mbwun
Summary: Arthur Miller, a Company xeno-hunter, goes to the colony of LeBlanc to catch a queen for Weyland-Yutani. A few years after "Aliens."


  I don't like the monsters, but for some reason, I have to deal with the damned things.  I think it's because I'm so good at what I do--and the Company is too lazy and too cheap to find someone else to do it, too.

  At least this time they gave me a partner.  I glanced over at her, sitting next to me in the shuttle.  She said her name was Nadia, which sounds nice but I almost don't believe her.  Don't ask me why, it seems like a silly thing to lie about your name, really.  But then, she does work for the Company, and they do some silly things, too.  And some other things, things that most people wouldn't dream of calling just "silly."

  Sometimes I wonder if I should keep working for Weyland-Yutani.  That's about the time that I get my big fat paycheck in the mail, so for now, everything is good.  But I really wished they would stop giving me those damned xenomorphs.

  We landed on LeBlanc on October 20, Earth-time.  I had at my disposal a complement of American Colonial Marines, though I don't like to use them.  They're usually just a monumental pain in the ass, and they're not much use against the xenos.  I wondered how Nadia is going to do when she sees them (or rather, if, because ninety percent of all xeno sightings are bullshit).  Would she freak like the last partner I had, God rest his soul?  Or would she keep her cool, and actually be of use to me?  I couldn't tell, nor would I till it hit the fan.  I wasn't looking forward to having someone at my back that I couldn't trust.

  "Keep behind me," I said.  "I read the file on the locals; they're a conservative bunch, don't like to see women in leadership roles.  Things will go over more smoothly if you appear subordinate to me."  Like she was.  "Just keep your eyes open and watch my back while I try to smooth-talk 'em."

  "You're not bringing the marines," she said.  An observation, not a question.

  "No," I said.  And then lied about why.  "They're too intimidating for the first meeting.  People get nervous when there're a lot of big guns around, you know?  I try to make a good first impression so I don't have to kick ass later."

  "Makes sense."

  I smiled big as the mayor of the LeBlanc colony approached, flanked by a Company rep.  "Good morning, sir," I said, extending a hand to the Company guy.  "Arthur Miller, with Special Investigations.  I understand you have a bit of a problem?"

  "If you're talking about the xenos, hell yeah."  The Company guy shook my hand and smiled the way a man does when he's really tired of doing the same thing over and over again.  "The name's Samno.  I'm the senior Weyland-Yutani rep here.  This is Allen Jenkins, the colony mayor."

  "Great.  What's the situation?"

  Samno was obviously used to the brusque Company manners.  "Thirteen confirmed xeno sightings, four unconfirmed, and eighteen bodies.  Some of the bodies are attached to the sightings, but they're all definitely xeno-type killings.  All but one were former hosts to xeno spawn."

  "Okay.  Fan-fuckin'-tastic.  Any idea where the nest is?"

  "Nothing solid.  Most of the bodies were discovered in the lower levels.  They're more suited to standard xenomorph preferred living conditions.  Hot as hell, generally low lighting."  He grimaced.  "Then we found signs of their inhabitation--you know, that crap they spray all over the walls.  Down in D-level, near the power supply."

  "Gotcha."  For some reason, the xenomorphs liked to make their home near nuclear power plants.  Some had hypothesized that they were attracted to the radiation.  I just figured it was because they liked to be nasty sons of bitches in nasty places.  "Okay," I said, "we'll need search teams.  I've got a crew of marines upstairs--"

  "I'd heard that they sent some.  Why aren't they down here?" Samno asked.  I glanced at Jenkins, who had remained silent through the entire discussion.

  "Didn't want to scare anybody," I lied again.  "They'll come down if I need 'em."  That was closer to the truth, I reasoned, but if I thought I really needed the marines, I was just as likely to call down a nuclear strike from the _Amerigo_--something I was authorized to do, if the situation arose.  I'd have to face a Company board of inquiry, but it was nothing that I hadn't done before.  Just another day in the office for me, when most of my actions required boards of inquiry.

  "You don't talk much," I said to the mayor.  "Something you wanted to say?"

  "He doesn't trust us," Samno said.  "The locals have had some trouble with the Company before.  Don't worry about it."

  "Didn't ask you, Samno," I said, glaring.  The Company rat shrunk.  He knew my power.  "The Company's screwed you, huh, Major Jenkins?"

  Jenkins nodded.  "We've had some troubles, yeah.  Mostly over food, water.  That sort of thing."

  "They charge you too much for it?"

  "Kind of."  Jenkins shrugged.  "The Company runs a terraforming station here.  The area around the colony has already been terraformed, and we have a lot of agriculture.  The Company wants our food and we want good prices for it.  Unfortunately for us, they control access to the planet, and we import a lot of materials.  So we take a pittance from them and receive our basic human rights."

  "Now I don't know about basic human rights, Mayor," said I, "but I do know that you folks have a xeno problem.  I don't know how serious, yet, but I intend to find out.  I'll need your cooperation, though.  Will that be a problem?"

  "I can't vouch for individuals, but I can guarantee that you'll have the full cooperation of the colonial administration," Jenkins said.  "You'll need guides for the lower levels?"

  "That'd be good.  You have some people on your engineering staff that can take me?"

  "Yeah."

  "Good.  I'll want to make a trip pretty soon.  Can you get your people together in an hour?"

  "Absolutely."

  I smiled.  "Grand.  Samno, if you don't mind--and by that I mean you don't have a choice--you'll be accompanying our little team down to D-level."

  "I . . . I what?" Samno gulped.  "What did you say?"

  "I said you're coming with me.  Think of it as an adventure."  Nadia and I left him there, his mouth gaping, to go back and unload the shuttle.  The colonials had already taken most of our luggage to the rooms where we would be staying--not that we would use them all that much--but there are some things that I prefer to handle myself.  Namely, weapons.  I like to bring a lot of weapons on a mission, mainly because, with the xenos, you can never have enough.  And because I like to find new and inventive ways to kill them--you have to keep the job interesting.  My personal favorite, and the gun I always carried, besides my combat knife and my .50 caliber Desert Eagle, was the Streetsweeper shotgun, a twelve gauge that will fire as fast as you pull the trigger.  I kept it loaded with depleted-uranium slugs that'll punch through the xenomorphs like it was nobody's business.  The little bastards really come apart when I open up with it.  It makes me smile.

  I had talked to Nadia about weapons before.  I found out that she was very good with a pulse rifle, the kind that the marines used, but that she preferred to do her killing a bit more dangerously, with high explosives and incinerators and the like.  I was impressed when I looked up her file; she had high marks with the standard Mk 120 incinerator, and it never hurts to have someone skilled in HE on one's side when one deals with the xenos.

  "Nadia," I said as we approached the shuttle, "what did you think?"

  "Jenkins is all right.  Means well, I suppose.  Samno is your typical Company bitch.  I wouldn't be surprised if he in fact has no spinal column."  She grimaced.  "He's dead if we run into the xenomorphs."

  "Or worthless, which is worse," I agreed.  "But I want to see him squirm.  Folks like him piss me off."

  "Then why do you work for them?" she asked.  I didn't answer, busying myself instead with the two black duffel bags that held the tools of my trade.

  D-level was darker than I had expected.  Nadia stood beside me wearing night vision goggles, and I had a motion tracker mounted on the side of the Streetsweeper.  Also with us was Samno, who had produced a .45, and our guide, the assistant chief engineer, a mousy looking guy named Keith, holding a big bolt-action single-shot .30-.06 hunting rifle.  I didn't bother to tell him that its slow firing rate wouldn't be worth shit against the xenos.  To my surprise, Jenkins had also elected to come along, and was carrying an older model pulse rifle.  Nadia was equipped, at my suggestion, with an incinerator, and a pair of pistols in low holsters that hugged her thighs.

  "This is where the first body was found," Keith said, pointing against the wall.  "Stuck up there with that resin crap they spit out.  One of them babies had come out of him."

  "Any other signs of xeno activity?" Nadia asked.  Keith shook his head.

  "Queen, then," I said.  "There's no xeno architecture around here, so it must have been the queen that hatched from that guy.  She must have moved further down, into the colony."  I checked again to make certain I had a round in the chamber; a nervous habit I had picked up, but one that had probably saved my ass.  "Okay," I said, "let's go.  Take us to the outskirts of the nest."

  "Sure thing."  Keith took a moment to slip a cartridge into the .30-.06, and then proceeded on down the hallway.

  "Ah, boss, just how far were you planning on going into the nest?" Nadia asked me quietly as we walked along.

  I shrugged.  I hadn't thought about it much; I never did.  "Far enough," I said.  "The Company says they want a queen alive, so I'm gonna try to deliver a queen.  This time, we won't go too far--just enough to scope out their setup.  It's easier to try to draw them out whilst the sun is up, and gun 'em down as they emerge.  I'm curious how they've brought their numbers up so quickly with only a few human hosts.  Obviously, they don't have enough to overrun the colony, or they would have.  But they must have more than twenty, because a queen would use that many to just get more hosts.  Nobody would be around to build the nest."  I frowned.  "Care to enlighten me, Mayor?"

  "There have been a number of wervig bodies found," he said.

  "Wervig?  What the hell's a wervig?"

  "A wervig . . . it's an indigenous creature.  Looks a lot like a big rat.  About the size of, oh, a pony.  Like the kids ride at carnivals."

  "Why didn't you say anything about this?" I demanded.  Jenkins shrugged.

  "He--" the mayor pointed at Samno "--said it wasn't important."

  "You little fuck.  Not important to you, maybe, you paper-pushing shit, but it's sure as hell important to me!"  I shook my head.  "Stupid bastard.  The whole mission might be scrapped.  And I'll sure as shit let the Company know whose fault it was."

  I shook my head while Samno just stammered.  What a waste of space.

  Not to my surprise, we reached the border of the xeno nest earlier than Keith had expected.  The little devils had been busy.

  "Nadia, talk to me."  This was still a training exercise, after all.

  "Standard xenomorph architecture.  Organic resin excreted by glands in the xenomorphs' mouths."  She tapped the twisting black wall with the barrel of the incinerator.  "Tough but somewhat malleable.  The xenos love to hide in the shit."

  "Which is why we watch our backs from now on," I said.  "I'll take point with Keith.  Nadia, you and Jenkins watch our rear.  Samno . . . just don't get in the way when the shooting starts, and I promise I probably won't blow your head off."  Samno didn't look too happy.

  Tough shit for him.

  We advanced slowly into the nest.  Keith impressed me; even with the tension so thick you could taste it, he kept his head, and could tell where we were even with the modifications the xenos had made.  Nadia was tracking well, too, and Jenkins had a look on his face that would have scared me if I had been in a different business.  Samno was scared shitless.

  It was about ten minutes until they ambushed us.

  They did it the way they always do, from the ceiling.  I was looking for it, and I caught the first one before it had come within striking distance.  A DU slug blew off its arm, and I exalted in its squeal of pain as I sent another round through its banana-shaped skull.  Keith shot the next one, the heavy .30-.06 bullet punching into the xeno's face.  Quickly he reloaded.  Observing his skill with the rifle, I guessed that he might last the battle, but his weapon's slow rate of fire would be a serious problem for him.

  "Keith!  Get behind me!" I ordered, shooting another xeno.  The engineer did as he was told, and I opened up with the Streetsweeper, pouring fire into the group of xenos that was rushing toward us.  As the shotgun clicked empty, I slung it over my back, my right hand already going for the Desert Eagle.  The model was over a hundred years old, but it could still be found, and it was one of the most powerful pistols ever made, and a wonderful tool for downing pissed off xenomorphs.  I pulled the hammer back and flicked off the safety, gently squeezing the trigger to send a .50 caliber magnum bullet downrange.  A xeno's head exploded, and I turned my head to shout "Fall back," shooting another xeno in the chest.

  We started a hasty retreat back through the corridors, Keith in the lead and me and Nadia in the rear, she with both pistols firing, and I with a combination of the Desert Eagle and the Streetsweeper, which I had reloaded.  So far, I counted our group extremely lucky, in that they weren't attacking from both sides.

  Finally we reached the unmolested regions of D-level, but the xenos were still chasing us.  Nadia sprayed their approach with burning napalm, and we could hear the bastards screeching in there, but I knew the fire wouldn't hold them long.

  "We have to get off this level," I said.  "Go higher."

  Nadia went up the access hatch, which we had locked behind us, and was beginning the process of opening it when the first xeno leapt through the flames.

  They're ugly little fucks.  The xeno hissed, opening both its mouths and flicking around its bony tail like an annoyed feline.  I shot it before it got any bright ideas.

  Four more came through.  Two of them fell victim to well-placed shots from Keith and I, but the third and fourth were on us before he could do anything.  One grabbed Keith.  I chanced a shot at it, risking injury to our guide by my bullet or the xeno's acid blood, but I missed, and it was gone.  I could hear his screams receding as I turned to face the fourth one.

  It was practically standing on top of Samno.  Why it wasn't attacking him, I didn't know; maybe it sensed that he would taste like shit.  It hissed menacingly at me, and started forward.  Ignoring the danger to Samno because I really didn't care, I shot it twice with the Desert Eagle, and then a third time with the Streetsweeper.

  It was the shotgun slug that did it.  The slug took a big chunk out of the xeno's side, sending a jet of its yellow blood into Samno's midsection.  The Company administrator screamed as the blood oxidized and began to eat through his body.  I grimaced, knew he was a goner, and used the last round in the Desert Eagle to put him out of his memory.  I ejected the empty clip and pocketed it, and rammed home a new one.  Then I was out the hatch and onto C-level.

  "Fuck," I muttered to myself as Nadia locked the hatch shut.

  Jenkins vomited on the floor.

  I called the marines down.

  I hadn't wanted to, but it turned out that Samno's second in command, a creepy sort of guy called Donavan, had a bit more clout with the Company than I did.  In addition to the marines, Donavan had sent me the Company android on the spot, one of the new Bishop models.  Bishop and his kind creeped me out even more than Donavan did, but I would tolerate him.  He did his job well, anyhow.

  We were planning another incursion into the nest.  This time it would be a straight up search and destroy, an attempt to kill enough xenomorphs to goad the queen into sending out hunting parties.  Bishop was going with us, and Jenkins had insisted that he be allowed to come, as well.  I was all for it; the more, the merrier, I figured.

  "It's our opinion," I said to the marine lieutenant, Robert DeGeorge, who was paying as much attention as was to be expected, "that the queen has established its nest near the power core.  You won't be able to use your explosive weapons in close proximity to the nest because you risk hitting the coolant tanks and causing a meltdown, but up to about a hundred meters from it, you'll be clear with all weapons."  I grimaced.  "That shouldn't be a problem on this run.  I don't intend to get anywhere near the nest."

  DeGeorge frowned, looking at the schematic of D-level that we had laid out on the table.  "This junction here looks like a good choke point," he said to himself, just loud enough that I could hear him.  "If we can draw them here," he said louder, to me, "it'll be a slaughter, as long as our ammunition holds out.  And we have a good line of retreat, with the ladder back up to C-level only fifteen meters back this way."

  "What's your plan for getting the xenos to come out there?"

  "Well," he said thoughtfully, "we could just go down and wait there.  Make some noise and hope they hear us."

  "They will," I said.  "Okay, how soon can your people move out?"

  "Now."

  "Good.  We go now."

  D-level was appropriately dark and murky when we got there.  The marines set up their perimeter, letting the two guys carrying those big M-56 smart guns have a clear line of fire, and we waited.  After we had been there for about ten minutes, shouting and tossing flash-bang grenades toward xeno country, DeGeorge came up next to me, pulling off his headset so that we could talk privately.  I removed mine as well, and leaned in.

  "Miller, this isn't working."

  "I know.  Maybe the bastards got smart on us," I said.

  "Got any ideas about drawing them out?"

  "You won't like it," I said.

  "Tell me anyway."

  "We send someone in as bait.  They go in far enough to draw out the xenos, hightail it back, and we blow away anything behind them."

  DeGeorge nodded.  "That's what I thought you were gonna say," he said.  "And you're right, I don't like it, but I have to agree with it."

  "Who goes?"

  "I'll take care of it."  DeGeorge motioned to his platoon sergeant, speaking to him in a hushed tone.  A moment later, the sergeant was up, pointing to two of the marines.

  "Killian!  Martinez!  You're with me!" she said.  "Rack 'em and let's move out.  Gonna try to draw some of these peckers into our guys."

  "Fantastic," one of the marines grumbled, but they both got up, following the platoon sergeant further down the corridor.  They disappeared around the corner, and everyone shifted uncomfortably, myself included.  The xenos weren't acting right, and that bothered me.  I'd been dealing with them so long that I prided myself in being an expert; now, there adverse behavior threw me a curve.

  _There's nothing new under the sun_, I thought.  _Nothing new under the sun.  It's all a variation._

  In the distance, we could hear gunfire, the blasting of the M-41B pulse rifles the marines were carrying.  Everyone tensed, and I heard at least a half a dozen guns being cocked.

  "Get ready," DeGeorge said.  I noticed that he had put his headset back on, so I did the same.  And checked to make sure that I had a full load in the Streetsweeper.

  The gunfire was getting closer.  There was a scream, a wretched, pathetic wail that was drowned out by more firing.  A second scream met our ears, and we began to get very uncomfortable.  The tension was like something you could grab in your hands.

  There was one last scream, that of the platoon sergeant.  And then one shot, from one of the 9mm pistols that all the marines carried.

  As one, we flinched.

  I strained my ears to hear what I knew was coming--the xenos' unholy screech.  There was no other noise; they're too damn quiet for something of their size, their stealth their most deadly weapon.  Every once in a while they would shriek encouragement to one another as they came up the corridor to meet us.

  The first xenomorph around the corner was dead in an instant.  Then came its comrades, scurrying along on the floor, the walls, even the ceiling.  We fired, the big smart guns chattering away constantly.  Nadia was next to me with her pulse rifle at her shoulder, selecting her targets carefully, downing them with one shot each.  Jenkins was spraying rounds all over the place.  I was being a bit more careful, but not overly so, firing quickly at the xenos, blasting pieces of their black carapaces across the hallway.  Bishop, the synthetic, had an M-42A sniper rifle, and was killing the xenos with a cold calculation that rivaled Nadia's.  He was something to look at, taking only a moment to target a xeno, down it, and move on to another.

  We killed them by the scores, by the dozens, but still they came, screaming and running through the piles of their own dead.  And they were gaining steady ground.

  DeGeorge tapped my shoulder.  "We're going.  Open the hatch for us, will you?"

  I nodded.  I shot another xeno and hurried back up the ladder, opening the hatch with speed that surprised even myself.  The Streetsweeper preceded me up--I had learned firsthand that xenomorphs have a tendency of being where you least expect them--and, having secured the exit to C-level, I called down to DeGeorge.

  "We're good!  Send 'em up!"

  "Okay!" shouted DeGeorge, to the marines.  "We're outta here!  By the numbers!  Odd numbers, retreat five meters!  Evens cover!  Go!"  Five seconds later:  "Even numbers!  Five meters!  Go!"  And another five seconds:  "Odd numbers, up the ladder!  Go!"

  The marines started coming up, moving more quickly than I had.  I could hear the xenos screaming as they threw themselves against the wall of guns below.

  "Okay, even numbers, up the ladder!  Go!"

  DeGeorge came first, lingering a moment to empty his pulse rifle into the xenos.  Then he was up, and the next marine, and the next . . .

  Three men were left below when Nadia came up.  She was halfway up the ladder when the xenomorph got her, pulling her back into the fray by the leg.  Nadia saw me as she fell back, screaming, and I nodded, more to myself, because then the xenos were dragging her away.  I saw her hand go to the grenades on her belt.

  One of the marines left below fell, nearly bisected by a xeno's slashing forearm.  The second was dragged off down the corridor, in Nadia's direction.

  Nadia's grenade exploded when the third was halfway up the ladder.  His legs were tugged out from under him by the impact of shrapnel, and he hung there, grabbing the ladder with his hands.

  I lunged down, grabbing the marine's collar.  Another marine was on the other side, and together, we hauled the wounded soldier up to C-level.  Bishop slammed the hatch shut, locking it just as the xenos began to pound against it, trying to break it open.

  "To tell you the truth, Donavan," I said, "I'm about ready to have the _Amerigo_ glaze this place from orbit.  If it's all the same to you."

  "What about your mission?" he asked.  "To capture a queen?"

  "Fuck it.  There'll be other xenos.  More opportunities."  I shrugged.  "Unless you've got a better idea."

  "I don't have a better idea.  But I do have Company orders for you to capture this queen.  At all costs."

  "Ah, I see.  Does the Company include the entire fucking LeBlanc colony as expendable, Donavan?" I asked.

  Donavan didn't look me in the eye when he answered.  "Yes," he said quietly.  "Yes, the colony is considered secondary to the capture of a queen.  And when I say 'the colony,' I mean every man, woman, and child on LeBlanc."

  "Fuck you."  I grimaced, stuck between a rock, a hard place, and the Company.  "Okay," I said.  "I'll get the Company its damn queen.  But I'm getting it my way."

  "Fine by me, Miller."

  "First thing that happens is you evacuate this colony.  Get as many people up to the _Amerigo _as you can."  I crossed my arms over my chest, thinking.  "And make damn sure that there aren't any xenomorphs aboard the dropships when they take off.  Hmm.  I'll need a call for every able-bodied man or woman who can use a gun.  I don't want conscripts, just volunteers; I'll be better off with ten volunteers than with a hundred disgruntled draftees who'll likely frag my ass and run.  Got me?"

  "Yeah, I got you.  Just watch your mouth, Miller, you're not dealing with that gutless shit Samno anymore."  It made Donavan even angrier when I just grinned at him.

  Then I scared him.

  "You know, Donavan," I said, patting the Streetsweeper that I was still carrying, "this close to you, this little baby will probably take your head right off.  I'd venture a guess that you wouldn't even feel it.  And it doesn't seem that we have many witnesses here--" I looked around, it was just DeGeorge, who was understandably angry with the Company, and Jenkins, who probably wanted to frag Donavan himself "--so not many people are going to object when I say that some xeno got you.  Do you understand what happens if you fuck with me, Donavan?  Company policy doesn't mean shit to me right now--the success of my mission with the highest probability of my getting out alive does."

  "I get you, Miller," Donavan whispered.  "Fuck you.  The damn colony will be evacuated, just like you want."

  "Good."

  Donavan stocked off.  Jenkins immediately volunteered for my little hunting party.

  "I figured you would," I said with a nod.

  "Um, why are you evacuating the colony?" DeGeorge asked.  "Besides the obvious.  No offense, but you don't seem the type to be too worried about the safety of a few colonials."

  "None taken, though getting noncombatants out of the area was one of my concerns.  Xenomorphs, you see, can't make more of themselves without hosts, and removing the colonists removes two hundred fifty-odd prospective hosts.  The xenos can still spawn in those wervig things, but that supply has got to be running low.  That's their curse--they never have enough bodies for their eggs."

  "Their curse," said Jenkins.  "Our blessing."

  "Uh-huh."  I cocked the Streetsweeper.  "Let's go make up a plan, shall we?"

  "What I was figuring on doing was drawing them into a big ol' battle for the colony," I said to DeGeorge, his new platoon sergeant, Yammamoto, Jenkins, and Bishop.  "We draw them topside--which shouldn't be too hard, 'cause the queen is probably pissed for all the babies we killed--and fight 'em guerilla style.  Building to building."  I held up a round explosive the size of my fist.

  "This," I said, "is a new model nuclear grenade.  It'll level a building pretty easily.  Once you pull the pin, you have a minute to get out of the way.  Each marine will have one.  I've got one, Bishop has one, and this--" I handed the grenade to Jenkins "--is yours."

  "Uh, thanks."

  "Use it in good health," I said.  "Lieutenant, you still have twenty-four men left, yes?"

  "That's correct."

  "We'll use them as squad leaders for the colonists, depending on how many we get.  We'll probably end up doubling them up, or even tripling.  Those big smart guns, for one, will need a more mobile bodyguard."

  "Gotcha."

  "Jenkins, about how many colonials can we expect?"

  The mayor thought about it for a moment.  "Hell," he said, "we're no marines, but we're as tough as it gets colonist-wise, and most of us are pretty fond of LeBlanc.  I'd say you'll have anywhere from fifty to a hundred people that'll show up, most of 'em with guns."  He grimaced.  "Not necessarily good guns, but guns."

  "I suppose that's all we can ask," DeGeorge said.  I resisted the urge to roll my eyes.

  The last dropship lifted up on its thrusters, moving slowly out into the distance and gaining altitude as it went.  We watched it go, shielding our eyes with our hands as it neared the setting sun, until it had disappeared into the sky.

  "We're officially on our own," said DeGeorge.

  I nodded.  "Yeah.  Now let's get on to business.  Remember the game plan:  kill xenos, don't get caught, use your nukes with caution.  I don't care if they're just babies, they're still damn nukes, for Christ's sake.  Try to conserve ammo, but remember that we have it stored in three places:  water treatment plant, vehicle garage, and the colony armory.  And if for whatever unlikely reason the queen shows her ugly head, you tell me or Bishop, because we're the only ones who have the right stuff to take her alive.  Anyone who kills that bitch--which is unlikely, but possible, I suppose--is staying behind when I have the _Amerigo_ nuke this site from orbit."  I looked out at the marines and eighty-seven civilians to make sure they got the point.  "Okay.  Let's rock.  Teams to your places."

  We have divided them into six teams of eighteen or nineteen each, with four marines in each unit.  Bishop was going with Yammamoto while DeGeorge, Jenkins, and me formed our own little three-man wrecking crew/command team.  It would be a hell of a battle.

  I had the Streetsweeper and the Desert Eagle, but I had also elected to carry a pulse rifle like the marines had, giving me more ammo to waste and a faster rate of fire than I had with either of my other weapons.  DeGeorge had taught Jenkins a fast and dirty course in incinerator operation, giving him that in addition to the older pulse rifle he already carried.

  The marine lieutenant looked like a star in a crappy action movie.  A pulse rifle in one hand and an M-65 shotgun in the other, with crossed bandoleers of ammunition across his chest, one with twelve gauge shells and the other with clips of the pulse rifle's 10mm ammo.  He had pistols on his belt beside a dozen fragmentation grenades, an incinerator hanging off his back, and of course, his baby nuke, tucked into one pocket.  All this over the standard armor.

  I was interested to see him in combat.

  It wasn't long before we heard the familiar sound of combat.

  "This is Carter," came the report from a marine.  "Contact with the enemy, south of the fuel depot.  Numerous xenos.  Looks like a major breakout.  We're holding."

  DeGeorge nodded his approval.  I was fairly certain that, deep down inside somewhere, he was loving every minute of this.  The bastard.

  "Zander here.  They're out near the living quarters.  We're retreating down the main approach, so shit, don't fire if you see--"

  We could hear gunfire, one of the smart guns blazing away, joined every once in a while by a pulse rifle, or any number of odd firearm the colonials happened to be carrying.  We could also hear the screams of the xenomorphs.

  "Zander?" DeGeorge asked.  "Zander, do you copy?  Shit.  Lovelace?"

  "Here, sir.  Zander bought it.  We're still retreating, but the xenomorphs are taking a lot of losses.  Still no sign of the queen."

  "There won't be," I said to myself.  "Unless we kill her warriors, queeny will stay nice and cozy in her den."

  Closer, almost too close, there was a massive explosion.  For a moment, I heard nothing, and hunched against the side of a building as the shockwave passed over me.  There was no mistaking what had just gone off.

  "WHO THE FUCK TRIPPED THE NUKE?" DeGeorge wanted to know.

  "Bronson, sir.  Sealed up their hole pretty good, I might add.  Human casualties:  zero."

  "Fuck, Bronson, good job, I guess."  DeGeorge shook his head.  "Dammit people--"

  During most of the conversation, my eyes were on the motion tracker on the side of the Streetsweeper.  Out of nowhere, a steady stream of blips appeared, already at ten meters.

  "Shit!  DeGeorge!  Look alive!"

  The xenos burst out of the ground, burrowing straight through the concrete streets--don't ask me how.  Jenkins barely had time to scream as one hissing bastard loomed over him and ripped the mayor to shreds.

  That xenomorph died a second later, followed closely by a second comrade that was going for DeGeorge.  The marine lieutenant nodded a salute of thanks toward me, and fired into the wriggling mass of black exoskeletons that was coming out of the hole in the ground.  I saw splashes of their yellow acid blood, and little else, because DeGeorge filled the hole with a gout of fire.  I smiled in approval, tossing in a frag grenade for good measure, and we took off, running back in the direction we had come from, toward one of the colony's maintenance supply sheds.

  Halfway there, a quartet of xenos decided to try to ruin our day, much to our surprise and their detriment.  DeGeorge downed two of them while I got the others, donating five DU slugs to the process.  I quickly opened the door to the supply shed, covering DeGeorge while he ran inside, and then followed him, locking the door behind me.  We went up the stairs to the building's roof, firing at the xenos that were running about on the streets below.  The stench of their acid blood was starting to get to me when the call that I had been dreading sounded in my headset.

  "Bishop!  Miller!  Anyone!  It's the fucking queen!  The queen's fucking out!"  There was a garbled scream, and then nothing.

  "Care to live dangerously?" I asked DeGeorge.  He laughed.

  From the sporadic gunfire and more constant screams, we could tell the general direction of the queen.  Most of the xeno warriors were dead from the fighting, or running to the assistance of their mother, aiding greatly in our movement.

  As soon as I saw the queen, I knew we were in deep shit.

  She stood around the mutilated bodies of half a dozen colonists.  I saw one of the smart gunners firing at her--to no effect--only to be struck down by her lashing tail.

  "Get the hell out of there!" I yelled over the radio.  Some of the marines scattered, but most of the colonials continued to fight with their hodgepodge of odd weaponry.

  I put down a xeno warrior, still running toward the queen.  I saw Bishop out of the corner of my eyes, holding the special gun that we both had.  The gun fired darts, designed by the Company for just such an occasion.  The darts would quickly inject a tailor-made tranquilizer into the queen's system.  The tranquilizer also delivered an ingredient to separate the queen's connection with her children, which would leave the rest of the xenos in the colony brain-dead vegetables.  Totally unconscious, the queen could be collected and transferred to the _Amerigo _for safekeeping during the trip back to Earth.

  Bishop fired.

  And missed.

  I cursed while the android worked to reload the pistol.  Of course the damned Company had made it a single shot--why in the world wouldn't they?  After all, it cut costs.

  I reached to my belt, bringing out my own pistol, slinging the shotgun over my back.  DeGeorge covered me, spraying fire over a xeno that was running for me.  Quickly, I sighted--

  DeGeorge erupted in a spray of gore, impaled on the end of a xeno's tail.  Without taking my eyes off the queen, I drew the Desert Eagle and shot the hissing alien in its ugly mouth.  I fired the dart pistol, holstering the Desert Eagle to reload.

  There was no need.  The dart hit the xenomorph queen in the neck, its heavy tip and explosive injector puncturing her flesh and injecting the tranquilizer before the acid blood could melt the metal tip.  The queen screamed in rage, glaring at the dart melting away from the wound in her neck, and for a second I thought it wasn't going to work--

  The bitch toppled over, crushing a colonial that would've died anyway if the tranquilizer hadn't worked.  A half-second later, every xeno in sight did likewise, flopping around on the ground as seizures wracked their bodies.  In a minute, everything was still.

  "Call the _Amerigo_," I said to Bishop.  "Get a dropship down here to carry this bitch off.  And for Chrissakes, start getting all those damn colonials off!"  I walked over to the sleeping queen, touching her smooth black carapace.  It was closer to a xeno queen than I had ever figured to get.

  "Sweet dreams, bitch," I said.

*  *  *

Epilogue

  "This is James Zander for CNN.  Tonight we have a shocking story that just came in.  The starship USS _Amerigo_, a Colonial Marine transport, has just returned to Station Alpha-Five on autopilot.  The _Amerigo _was on a training mission near the Outer Rim.  The starship did not return hails, and when an inspection team was put aboard, they found the mutilated corpses of a number of her personnel.  It is currently docked at Alpha-Five while a Weyland-Yutani team investigates.  No survivors have been found, and the cause of the disaster is still unknown . . ."


End file.
